No Place is Home
by Naya Zephronic
Summary: Life hates me. Abusive parents, ending up in the foster care system, and -that- is a load of crap, unwanted and left on the streets at 18, I was never very lucky. So, waking up in Thedas after being hit by a bus? I wasn't surprised. You know all those stories were we end up as the Warden or Hawke? This isn't one of those. In Antiva, I am to become a Crow, whether I want to or not.
1. Help Me I'm in Hell

_Someone told me this would be a good idea! (That was you Hatsepsut :P) This will update, well, when I'm not focusing on Heroes are made. There's going to be a lot of hard stuff in this story; Crows are not very nice and if you look hard at the Dragon Age background, Thedas isn't very nice either._

_Forgive me, anyone out there who speaks Spanish better then I, and I will not doubt that you do, I'll do my best to keep things straight, but my Antivan is a butchery of Spanish and Italian, neither of I speak well (and in the case of Italian, at all) so if things don't make sense, well I don't intend for them too. There won't be as much as the story progresses, Ravan/Vasco is going to learn how to talk, and then everything will be in Antivan (and there for, nothing). That being said; if any terms I use are out of date, even better, I want them to be. _

_Oh and; our PC here has a bit of a bad mouth and… I really mean that. This is your one and only **strong language warning**._

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><p>01: Help Me I'm in Hell<p>

I can't remember when it started raining, but then I can't remember when I ended up face down on the ground. Could have been hours ago, could have dragged me half way across town to beat me to death in some junkyard. That might explain the mud. The rain splashing on my face and the fucking mud in my mouth, _that's_ what woke me up. I cough, trying to spit out whatever shit I may have swallowed, and sit up. I get to my hands and knees.

"_E'un regalo del Hacedor_." Someone says with a laugh. I had about a whole second before that same someone kicks me in the gut and knocks me back down. Fuck me. Dumbass award goes to me for sure. I shouldn't have fucked with that _cholo_, they always have lackeys and I know this shit, but I did, here's my reward, _fuck me._

Mud, so much damn mud. We were downtown a minute ago, last I remember. Fuck, I had to be in a bad mood, had to jump that guy for calling me out. Should have gone home, should have taken my stress out on that game I… borrowed.

Fuck, now they get to call me a thief on top of all the other shit they'll say about me.

"_Se ve mezzo muerto, es rota._" Nope, not dead yet asshole. I don't speak Spanish very well or at all really, besides the things that everyone knows; how to curse someone out and a few words here and there. This was a second guy; I can't get a look at his face. Too busy trying to rub the dirt out of my eyes and, you know, fucking _breathe_. "_Tuo nombre, moccioso_?"

I didn't answer; I'm not sure what he said, it sounded familiar, but he pronounced it funny. He took offense to my silence and kicks me again. "Fuck you-" I gasp with what little air I had, rolling over and holding my stomach. Bastard.

"What is 'dis, did your mummy not teach you how to speak?"

"Fuck you _and_ your mom." No one ever accuses me of being able to pick my battles. I get another kick, but this time I manage to roll to my feet and struggle into something that isn't me lying half dead on the ground.

How the fuck was this guy so tall? I wasn't short, last time they forced me to stand there and get measured I was almost six feet. I never bothered to check again; most people were level or shorter than me and that's all that I really cared about. "Your name, _gilipollas."_

Fine, he wants Spanish, I can say about five things in Spanish real well and it rolls up into one nice little sentence too. "_Tu madre es un puta_."

I get my wish; piss him off so bad he goes bat-shit crazy on my ass. I try to fight back, but somewhere in that mess I realize I'm not as strong as I was before. I realize I'm not as tall and I felt -I don't know- fucking gangly. Did it take me that long to realize that I wasn't eighteen anymore? I hate to admit it. I also hate to admit I'm so fucking stunned by these thoughts that the guy kicks my ass so hard I think I black out for a minute.

Next thing I know, I'm being loaded up into some carriage thing like a sack of shit. I heard a horse, smelt the fucker, really. Who the hell uses horse and carriage?

Where the fuck was I?

I can't move. They don't care enough to tie me up, I was weak-sauce anyway, and they can flay me open if I even spat on their shoe. How did I get here? It isn't the most important question, but it's the one that was easier than having a fucking mental breakdown. I haven't been weak in almost 12 years, not since my dead-beat dad got put away for child abuse. That's my story in a nutshell.

I use to have this nightmare. I'd be seven years old again, my mom would be stoned out of this world and my dad would be tripping balls. My dad was angry though, always saying _I_ ruined his life, that things would be so much better if _I_ wasn't around anymore. The dick would beat me, in this dream, beat me to death and I'd wake up screaming. I had that dream for five years.

He wasn't around anymore. Someone called the cops on him when he cracked three of my ribs and broke my arm. Turns out guys in prison don't like pedos or kid-beaters, honor among fuckers I guess. I talk to my mom, sometimes, but all she's after is her next fix. They send her to rehab, and she gets right back out six weeks later saying she's clean. She always comes to me, promising she's better and we can live together again, but she always fucks up and I stay in 'care. I was in foster for years, but after what happened, I'll happily admit I hate the world and everyone in it. No one wanted to keep me, and I didn't want to stay with those fuckers anyway.

They finally sent me to this place, call it _Haven,_ for kids like me whose life is fucked and their attitude is even more so. It's run by some church or Christian group, I don't know and I don't fucking care. Point is, they get kids who are in foster for too long, set them up in school give them a place to stay and try to shove God down their throat. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely believe in God... And I absolutely hate the fucker. Heh. I also fucking love the movie _Pitch Black_ and you can bet that wasn't on the list of approved materials.

Thing is, once you're a legal adult, you can't stay at Haven anymore. I had maybe a week left and still no job; fuckers wouldn't hire me, _I_ wouldn't fucking hire me. Shows where my mood was. I spent all day turning in applications and trying _not _to act like a dickwad, can't say I don't know myself; when this _cholo_, a stereo typical one too -headband and everything- calls me out for walking on his turf. Fucking hell, it's the damn sidewalk, and I can walk it if I want to. Course, I tell him this shit to his face and he takes offense. I can take one guy, easy, high school was full of fights and fuckers trying to prove they could beat me, they never did, not unless they and a bunch of their buddies jump me in an alley, and that _has_ happened.

It happened this time too, only instead of a bunch of high schoolers, it's a fucking gang and they're wiping out the tire-irons. I'm not stupid; I booked it like my ass was on fire. I took a wrong turn and, bam. Bus.

I'm dead. I must be.

I can remember the look on the bus driver's face as he tried to slam on his breaks, not fast enough. I can remember laying on the ground, some whinny chick screaming. I shouldn't say that, she was probably the only person to try and help me, aside from that one other guy who called the cops when I was a kid. So. I'm dead.

This must be hell.

Fucking - if I would have known this place was actually _real_ I would of - aww balls, who am I kidding? I lay quite the entire time, only half wondering why they got horses in hell and why it's raining. Isn't the general idea of fire and torture and little men with pointy sticks laughing as they prod you with them? Well, they've got it wrong. Well, kind of. My guys lack the sticks, but they sure get a kick out of beating me up, fuckers picking on a kid.

My hell _would_ be that I was seven again and getting my ass beat for looking the wrong way. Fuck me.

I'm in a city. I can't see much, the rain is washing everything out, but I can almost make out the glow of lights and some people talking on the streets. A whole fucking city in hell, I can't believe it. I try to sit up, but the asshole not driving the horse kicked me in the chest and put me right back out on my back. He didn't even have to try and that burns me up even more. I got a look at his face this time, trying to rip it off with my eyes. He has one of those mustaches that look like you can hang something from it, but it was all droopy from the rain and a scar over his left eye. Watch out fucker, I got your number now.

It would be stupid to try again, but that's me, dumbass award. I sit up a few times, each time the guy knocks the wind from my lungs and lays me out. Finally the guy gets pissed enough he smashes my head against the wood and leaves me with my arms and head hanging over the side. I get a better view of the city, so hey, maybe not such a dumb fucker after all. Too bad it's dark and grey and washed out from the rain. I don't know, it doesn't look like I've gone to hell, even if it feels like it. Maybe that's the point.

The horse drags us out of the pretty part of the city and into a place I'm more familiar with. I can only say there was a change because instead of the nice trotting sounds of the horse's feet on stones; I get more mud splashed in my face. Fucking awesome. Other than that, and something that stinks and _isn't_ the horse, nothing really changes for a long time. I can hear waves, but the buildings are in the way, but it sounds like the ocean. Seriously, rain, a city and an ocean in hell? I'm starting to doubt everything the bible-thumpers ever told me.

God is still a fucker though, look where I am.

We finally stop. Faster than I can move, Scar-guy grabs me by my hair and throws me into the mud. I cough and spit, ready to stay something nasty when he pushes my head into the mud. I can't breathe, I try to hold my breath, but the dick waits me out. "Play nice now, _moccioso,_ or they'll gut you like a fish."

He drags me, still gasping for air and coughing up mud into a building and gives me one final kick into a room. I needed something, anything to hit, anything to fight. There was an unfortunate kid who was at the wrong spot at the wrong time. I crashed into him and took my frustration on _his_ scrawny ass, he ends up with a black eye before asshole-number-two pulled me off of him and gives me the other half of the beating he hadn't done in the carriage and I get shoved into a corner to lick my wounds.

There must have been a dozen of us, or more, packed into a room smaller than my bedroom at the haven. No one can sit without touching someone, but the other kids try their damnedest to give me as much space as possible. Good for them, I don't like being fucked with and it only took one unlucky kid for the lot of them to learn that.

The lights went out and the lot of us huddle in the dark with the thunder crashing outside like scared fucking mice. I finally realize I'm freezing my ass off, been stuck out in the rain for over an hour and left in wet cloths. It is pitch black in here, I can't see a thing unless a lightning bolt lights up the room, but I doubt the assholes would cram a bunch of kids into one room and give two shits whether they had blankets or not. I think I see a cat somewhere, its eyes shining in the dark, but the stupid thing is gone before I can figure out where it went. Damn I hate cats, stupid thing better not pee on me.

Fuck it; it would happen to me too.

Giving up, I lie down and face the wall, shaking from the cold. I won't even bother asking why I'm here, packed up and shoved around like damaged goods; I know why I'm here. I was a fucktard in life, and this is what I get for it. Not like I actually listened to the shit the dicks at Haven spewed for the last five years, but I don't know, it didn't feel like I was giving a fucking chance. What did you expect from a kid who's only seen the shit side of life? That I was going to dance up to some daddy-figure of a god with fucking stars in my eyes and tell him how much I love the dick? Shit no, it sounded too good to be true, so it was. I couldn't trust anyone, why would I trust a higher power that might not even be there? No fucking chance, no chance to grow the fuck up.

At least the devil had a fucking sense of humor that was for sure.

I try to sleep. It was about all I can do, but one boy coughs, another whimpers and a third sniffs back some tears and I kick at the wall in frustration. It doesn't help that I was still soaked and just about everything hurt. Teach me to run my damn mouth, wait, no it won't. I'm just complaining like a bitch now, but the floor is uncomfortable and I've slept on a few.

Some little fucker moved so quietly in the dark that I didn't notice him until his back was pressed up against mine. I might have jumped and nearly smacked my head against the corner I pressed myself into. Might have.

"_Acostúmbrate a esto, non c'è suficiente espacio para essere un cazzo,_" He says. I didn't get a word of that.

"The fuck did you just say?" I've used up my Spanish knowledge for the day, and even if I didn't, one to many hits made it hard to think straight.

"There is not enough space for you to be a dick, get use to this." Little shit, I was about ready to punch him in the face when I realize it's the same kid I wailed on accident when they kicked me in here. Kid had bawls, at least. "Why do you talk like the dwarves? Do you not know Antivan?"

"Dwarves? The fuck kid?" I snort. No fucking such thing as dwarves, hell or not, besides dwarves are too cool for eternal domination. "And what the hell is Antivan?"

"Your _accento_, _cazzo_. Antiva is the land we are in, Antiva City. Antivan is the people and the language. Where did you come from, that you do not know these things?"

"California." I snap.

_"¿Qué es eso?"_

I might have learned something in French from a TV show a few years back, so that line actually makes sense to me. It isn't exactly the same, but it starts with 'que' and I can fill in the blank quick enough. Fuck anyone who says TV doesn't teach anything, Dr. Le Quack, Amnesia Specialist makes them fucking liars and he stole _la silverware_. "No place, nevermind. I don't know how I got here. Why are they keeping us here?"

The kid sighs. "You do not know? We have been sold to the Crows."

I was trying to ignore the fact that my voice was stupid high pitched. Trying and failing. You kind of forget what you sound like when you're a kid, hearing it now makes my ears hurt. Maybe that's why my fucker of a father couldn't stand me; I can barely stand me at this point. "I wasn't sold to anyone, and who the hell are the Crows?"

"I heard _cazzo_; they picked you off the street and thought you _un_ _omaggio_, compliments from the Maker himself. I think they are regretting that now." The kid moves away, and I realize just how absolutely freezing it is in the room. I sit up and nearly jump out of my skin. His eyes are reflective, and it was him I thought had been a cat in the room. He laughs at me, obviously realizing that I've never seen creepy ass cat-glow eyes on anyone before, and apparently its normal, though I wasn't sure if my reaction was normal or his eyes were. A smile spreads on his face; even though it was starting to swell and bruise from the punch I gave him. Damn, make me feel like a... _cazzo_.

"Would you fucking stop calling me that?" I hiss looking away. He is pretty boy. Blonde hair and big eyes, girls would like him, makes me want to punch him again. I hate pretty boys; they made me feel like shit standing next to them. I have anger issues, hard to fucking notice if you ask me.

He's still smiling. I can see it out of the corner of my eye. Damn it kid, I really don't want to punch you again, but you're making it very hard to resist temptation. "You did not give your name to our new masters. They call you _cazzo_. Or Vasco. I find the last one funny."

"You would. What the hell does it mean?"

The kid crosses his arms over his chest, I try not to growl at him, it didn't work, but he doesn't seem to care. I like growling at people it sounds cool to me and freaks them out because it isn't something they'd expect a normal person to do, but I was never fucking normal. Kid doesn't care though and I can snarl and growl and twitch my lip all I want and he didn't bat an eye. At least one of the kids behind him flinches at it though and that was satisfying enough. I mentioned I'm normal. "These words you use, Vasco. _Fuck_ and _hell_. I do not understand them."

"Fuck is fuck," I say. If there's one thing I knew it's how to curse in ten different languages without actually saying a word and if his cat eyes is anything to go by, I bet he could see better than I can right now, my eyes are adjusted enough that I could make out the shapes of the other kids around us. I raise my left fist, slapping my bicep as I did it. The kid scoff, I know he understands and smirks. "And hell is the place you go when you die and you're a _cazzo_ like me. Now tell me what _vasco_ means before I fuck you to hell."

"The void." The kid snorts; now that he's talking to me he isn't impressed. I get that a lot. I just don't like people bothering me, those that do realize I'm only a dick because I try to be. The ones that care are usually the ones that get their face bashed in, so it never really matters in the end. "You go to the void when you die, when you're a cazzo that doesn't believe in the Maker. Vasco is an old word for Crow. You would not give your name so they named you instead."

"Well fuck me." I sigh, it was easy enough to guess that Maker was another word for God and religion was something everyone had. Course, I'm not sure why hell would have its own god and another hell on top of the one I was already in. I'm surprised the conversation had lasted as long as it did; I keep expecting this kid to do what everyone else did, decide I wasn't worth the effort and fuck off. "If you care, my name is Ravan."

"Raven?"

My back hits the wall. I don't care anymore. I'm tired and sore and apparently I've been bought and sold like day old meat. Not even, I got picked up off the streets like trash, kidnapped, not that anyone was there to fucking care. Story of my fucking life. "No, but that's pretty much the same thing next to Vasco, right?"

The kid doesn't look amused; I was a dead bird no matter what name I use so who gave a shit anyway, not us. "I am Zevran Arainai."

Crap, now I knew the kids name. That reminds me that I punched him in the face a few hours ago just because he was the closest thing to the door when they shoved me in here. I sigh, I hate knowing names I can forget the shit that I did to people easier if they don't have one. "Sorry about your face, Zevran. What are they going to do with us?"

"The Antivan Crows are an order of Assassins. We become as them or die. Neither sounds very pleasant." When people call themselves the Crows and say their assassins, all I can think of is how young these kids are. How young I am, and what they're going to do, exactly, to turn a group of fucking babies in to cold blooded killers.

I swallow, hard. Suddenly I was thankful that this kid, Zevran, I was thankful that Zevran stopped to talk to me, even after what I did to him. If he hadn't bothered, I'd be dead tomorrow. Fuck, I was already dead; I don't want to know what happens if you died again.

I don't have any fight in me and that's sobering. I always fight tooth and nail, simply because I can, to prove to myself I can. What am I going to do here? Seven-eight skinny as a twig and sold to a league of assassins who beat up little kids and make them kill for a living.

I must have gone pale, or sat quiet for too long because Zevran pats me on the shoulder, and I realize I was seeing right through him. "Go to sleep, Ravan Cazzo Vasco."

"Fuck you Zevran Arainai, good night." I lay down again, Zevran at my back. I was the only one who didn't know why I was there and Zevran had cured me of my stupid. Where the fuck was I? Where in the world was Antiva? It wasn't any place I knew, American schools were shit to begin with, and I was a shittier student, but I was willing to bet a lot there was no country called Antiva anywhere on the map. Even if there is, you could never convince me that something that sounded so much like Spanish was a totally different language. I mean, fuck, I pissed off that guy with the '_your mother's a whore'_ line. Granted I won't put it pass the ass to kick _my_ ass no matter what I said, but he was downright pissed, so he _had_ understood me.

This isn't making any sense and the more I think about it the more I want to bang my head against the wall. I won't let them have me. I decide. I am a cazzo after all; they're going to regret picking up this piece of trash off the street.

I won't say I'm scared. It's cold with the rain even with Zevran at my back for some warmth, so I was shaking. The sniffling was because I'm already catching a cold stuck in wet clothing. I don't sleep though; I don't think any of us in that little room could.

Can't say I've had a longer night.

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><p>E'un regalo del Hacedor - <em>A gift from the Maker<em>  
>Se ve mezzo muerto, es rota. - <em>He looks have dead, he's rotten<em>  
>Tuo nombre, moccioso? - <em>Your name, brat?<em>  
>gilipollas – douchebag<br>Tu madre es un puta - _Your mother is a whore_  
>un omaggio - <em>A tribute<em>

_Cholo is an ethnic slur, about the equivalent of white-trash when applied to someone of Mexican descent, (yes, it's also used to describe those of mixed heritage, for those that know, but in America they don't use it for that reason, at least not while I was living in California, but I will admit that was almost a decade ago) as well as Chicano gang members. _


	2. Afterlife

_Ahh, moving is sooo much fun. At least I get to paint the walls. My hands are covered in paint. Teehee._

_Translations are at the bottom, but most of the Antivan is explained in context. You should be like Vasco and guess at what everyone's saying, its more fun! :)_

_Can you hear my evil laughter? I might have had too much fun with this…_

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><p>02: Afterlife<p>

The door smacked the wall with a crack that made everyone in the room jump out of their skin. It's Scarface again. The dumbasses shouldn't have bothered scaring the shit out of us at the crack of dawn, it's not like any of us had gotten any sleep anyway. He could have barged in at noon and had the same effect, and gotten a night's sleep out of it too.

"_Contra il pared, ora, mocciosi." _My lip twitches, the fuck did he just say? Course, I'm about the only one who can't speak, so when everyone starts lining up against the wall, I get a clue and follow. One by one the kids are asked their name before being shoved out the door. I thought it sounded familiar last night. There're more than dozen of us, packed into this tiny room. I can't help but wonder how long they plan to keep us here. That's when the roll call came to me.

_"Proviamoci di nuevo. Tuo nombre, cazzo?"_ Shit, I should have seen this coming. I've got two choices and neither one of them is the right answer. Fuck me, I suck it up and brace myself.

"Ravan," I say.

Scarface backhands me. I mentioned I saw this coming, right? I threw my hands out and manage to keep my face from smacking the floor. My jaw hurts and I try to stand.

_"Tuo nombre."_ The question was, would be beat me again for knowing the name they'd given me before _they_ told me? Fucking bet on it. I can play dumb, or I can be a smartass.

"Vasco." I'm a smartass, it's an illness. One that has Scarface cracking me over the head again, this time with his fist. I see stars and hit the ground hard. Nice way to start the morning brings back memories.

"_Quién te dijo eso, gilipollas?_" He asks, wasn't hard to guess he was trying to make me give up my informant. He suddenly remembers that I couldn't understand him last night and kicks me when I'm down. I did mention memories, right? Too many. "Who told you this?"

I don't tell him, so the fucker kicks me again.

"Who!?" He snarls. I can hear the spit dripping down his ugly face. I killed the joy of him drawing out the beating, of being able to hit me every time I got the answer wrong so he's just wailing on me. This shit is actually easier to take if he can't drag it out, see, but he's so pissed all I can do is curls up in a ball and wait for him to finish, or black out first. Bastard's got nothing on my dad though; he used to take a broom to my back, ouch. Scarface gets tired before I do and drags me up by my hair. First chance I get I'm cutting that shit off.

"You will tell me." He hisses in my face. His breath smells like balls.

"I don't know," I lie right into his eyes. I wasn't going to rat on the one guy that helped me. "It was dark."

That part was the truth; I only recognized Zevran was the same kid because of the lightning flashes. Course, smartasses don't get off easy and my head hits the wall before he lets me go. I slump, a little daze, but nothings broken. They're pretty good about that, I guess paying for medical bills isn't in their budget. "Up, _gilipollas_."

I get up as fast as I could and my ass is shoved into the hallway. I'm not sure where to go, as the kid in front of me is long gone before Scarface let me go. I guess that closed doors are bad, and hope I'm going in the right direction.

I stumble a bit as I walk, they've been kicking the crap out of me for the last twelve hours, if I hadn't been so used to it I'd probably be fucking crawling right now. At one point I have to stop and catch my breath, bastard hit me pretty hard. I should really cool it with the smartass-ing, sooner or later I'm going to end up taking it too far and Scarface isn't going to hold back.

Lucky me the only open door leads to the kitchen, and there still a couple of kids lingering around. I was too busy getting the crap beat of me before to notice but this place is practically medieval and what I thought was a kitchen was little more than a few tables and a pot over an open flame. It didn't fit with my 'I'm dead and this is hell' theory. Seriously, were the fuck am I?

A woman is standing over the pot, scooping out spoon-fulls of soup and pouring them into small cups. She turns to me.

Fuck I'm staring, but I can't help it.

I mean, I'm not blind. Might be going crazy, but I'm not blind.

She's got these big old pointy ears, makes her look like a rabbit. What the fuck is going on here?

"_Qué stai fissando, idiota_?" She hisses. Shoving a cup into my chest and splashing me with hot water. Not hard to guess what she said.

"N-nothin'." Zevran mentioned dwarves. Maybe they do exist, I just laid my eyes on an-

"Never seen an elf before?"

"Ch'esus Christ." I snap. Course it has to be him sneaking up on me, the dumbass. Next time I'm punching him for sure. It was too dark to notice last night, but Zevran had those same pointy ears too. I try not to stare, but it's hard.

The cup in my hand has some soupy broth stuff. It's not even soup; it's just water with a bit of coloring. There was a few bits of what I thought might be vegetables, but they were too small to be even worth mentioning. Even that cup-o-noodle shit had more than this.

"_Qué_?" Fuck, forgot about that.

"Maker. Whatever." I say as we sit down in a corner. Everyone else stayed far away, and I glance at Zevran who only shrugs.

"I hear that's all they're going to give us." Zevran says point to the cup that was already cold. _Fuck_…

"You seem to hear a lot, don't you?" He grins tapping his ear.

"They are not for decoration, you know." I'm not looking at him; in fact I'm trying not to look at anyone. It's too fucking weird. Most of the kids here have those pointy ears Zevran and the cook do, not all of them, but a lot to realize they have a preference for... _elves_.

I've seriously run out of swear words to describe my situation, I just- this- I can't even- _Ugh_.

Zevran frowns crossing his arms over his chest. "I could almost understand you not hearing of a dwarf, but elves? We are all over the place."

"I was sheltered." I say and knock back the slosh they call food. It's no good. I'm going to be hungry again in like five minutes. Don't know why hell has food at all, must be part of the torture.

This place is packed with scrawny kids, not just from the room I spent the night in; it was like every one of those doors has a pack of kids. I only see a few older kids though. If there are more than two kids in the room passed sixteen I'll be surprised.

"They're going to weed us out, strongest of us get to stay." I mumble more to myself then to him. "Wonder what happens to the kids that don't make it."

"They're dead, or worse." I wonder what's worse than being dead, but then, I'm here, aren't I? "The Crows don't leave anything to chance."

"Question is… is it one per group?" Zevran doesn't answer that and I don't blame him. We're both thinking the same thing, I bet. If it's between me and him, well. I'm not fucking dying. Not again, anyway.

I'm kind of hoping they're flexible though. Hate to beat the shit out of the kid again, he's pretty decent.

"You're pretty observant," Zevran says, and then adds. "When you wish to."

Sometimes.

"I have to watch my own back a lot," I tell him ignoring the other half.

"_Di qué stai hablando?_" He spits and I can only stare and wait for him to realize he was speaking crazy again, wait, sorry, _Antivan._ "We are the same age from what I can see. You are speaking as if you're like that old man that would come into the brothel and bother the whores."

"_What_?" I ask, feeling rather stupid, but seriously, what's a kid doing in a fucking whore house. "A whorehouse?"

He shakes his head with a half-smile, yes, that's the thing I got out of that, stop looking so damn smug. "The Crows don't often get gifts from the Maker. Most of us are born in such places and later sold to them."

"Wait-wait- Why would your mom an-" Huh, whorehouse, stop that thought. "-Let you get sold off like that?"

It's probably the first time I haven't seen a smartass smirk on this kid's face. Damn, I wouldn't have asked if I knew how sensitive a topic it was. "Mine did not have a choice, or rather, she's not around to stop it."

"Shit Zevran, sorry." What else can I say? That he's kind of lucky? That my mom is - was? - a drug addict who never lifted a finger to stop my dad from beating the crap out of me? That she goes in and out of rehab like it's a drive-thru? So at least his mom can't make promises and break them every single fucking time?

Fuck. Don't look at me. Just don't fucking look.

"It is nothing; most everyone here has a similar story," Zevran says, "Or is yours as different as it seems to be?"

I shake my head, trying to pretend nothings bothering me. "Its- Uhh, if I say I don't remember…"

"Oh come now, how did you end up on the side of the road?"

I groan, oh there's that. For about three seconds I'd forgotten that I was dead, thanks Zevran, and thanks a lot. Oh, you wanna hear the story? I got hit by a fucking bus. What's a bus? Oh it's this big metal thing that people ride around in. While I'm at it let me explain cars and planes and electricity and skyscrapers and _fuck._ Yes, let me just tell you everything because I want to be thrown in a mental hospital faster than I can blink. No thanks. He sighs when I don't answer.

"_Diteme_," he presses. "Tell me."

"You'll just think I'm crazy and we have enough problems without adding that to this fucking shit we're in." I growl and he rolls his eyes. Then again, I'm talking to a seven year old. Maybe he'd acually believe me, at the very least maybe no one would believe _him_.

"Too late." Stop doing that Zevran, I really will hit you.

I don't. I don't tell him either.

But that was only because some punk-ass decided to splash a cup of the shit they were feeding us in my face. I whip the side of my face shaking the drops off on his bare feet before standing.

He's one of those older kids I'd noticed earlier, trailed by s small scrawny ass kid. Kind of reminds me of Zevran, if only for the fact that I got the kid following me around too. Only I'm pretty sure Zevran could cut me lose if he cared enough too. This little bitch's too dependent on the fucker in front of me for that. Speaking of, he spits at me like he's tough shit. He's not the eldest, but he's got about a year on me. I was waiting for someone to fuck with me. It was probably the calmest I've been in days. This I know how to handle, here I know what to do.

"Problem?" I say. Here's hoping everyone knows how to speak English as well as this Antivan shit.

The kid laughs in my face. "_Stanno diciendo que tuo hai le palle ottenuto._"

"The others are talking about you," Zevran tells me, though the kid is still sitting down. He probably doesn't want to get tangled up in a fight. I don't blame him, but I'm dying to be the one that pummels the shit out of someone for once. Anger issues, get a fucking clue.

"_Non saben perché hanno miedo, se pareces come Ferelden basura a mí._"

"He doesn't know why the others are afraid of someone who looks like Ferelden trash."

Ferelden? The fu- dear god am I sick of this shit, never _fucking_ mind. "Is that an insult?"

"It is intended to be." I should really just assume the answer is yes and move the fuck on. Save us all some time.

The punk-ass snorts. He might be older, but I haven't survived street fights by not being able to size a guy up. I can take him, but it doesn't look good if his little bitch behind him joins in. Scrawny as he is, I've had one too many beatings today. "So what's the problem."

Here's hoping I can leave the ass out of smart-ass this time.

"_Non può nemmeno hablar y viene qui como se es duro,_" He says his arm crossed over his chest, he was trying to look down at me, but he didn't have much height, if any on me and I don't take that shit. His little bitch nodded silently behind him, not that Punk-ass could see. "_Necesita di aprender come se fanno las cosas qui._"

"He's threatened by you," Zevran says with a grin. "He wants to knock you down before you're better then him."

"_Non è quello ditto!" _Punk-ass was spitting mad, I could see his face going read. God this kid knew how to read people. Thanks Zevran. I'm going to start having to tally up what I owe this kid.

"Maybe not out loud," I say. I'm not entirely brainless, all the time, give me some credit. "But you've got coward written all over your face. You and your buddy are gonna gang up on me, right? Cheap. Won't prove anything like that. Well, Come at me."

I shrug like I don't really care what he does and that makes him stop talking shit and face me.

"_Rimani_ _retro_," He tells the smaller kid and the little bitch shuffles away like a mouse. I feel like I'm waiting forever for Punk-ass to pull up the nerve before he finally starts swinging.

He's slow.

He doesn't think I know how to fight back. He goes high, I go low and my elbow is in his stomach. It's nice to know I'm stronger then I fucking feel, considering ol' Scarface's been kicking my ass to hell- …hell and back. He doubles over and I shove him on his ass. I didn't think he would, but he jumps up and tries again. He's just a kid, I'm thinking, and as much as I want to it isn't in me to kick his ass seriously. Fucking shit. This time I catch his arm, hook his ankle with my foot and yank him off balance. Hah, the look on his face. He's wondering how the ground and sky switched places so fast.

Come on kid, stay down. He's up a third time and he's finally serious. His hands are up in front of his face and he's crouching just a bit. Some of the other kids that were wandering about are beginning to take notice and stare.

Fine, now we're actually playing.

But, Punk-ass doesn't know how to play the game. He has a lot of the basics, sure, but the way he kept shuffling back and forth like some deranged crab; dumbass thinks he knew what he was doing. He's probably, what? Eight, nine? How much did they really teach him in that time? My money is on not much.

He's slow as shit and I have years of practice.

Before he realizes what happened, my knee is in my gut and as he doubles over, again, in pain my palm smashes him in the face. I don't have a lot of muscle to back it up, I was scrawny as a kid, and I guess I still am, or am again. Point is bones fucking hurt and I felt his nose break. I let him fall hard, wiping the blood off on my shirt as he groans. I nudge him in the ribs with my foot, but I won't kick a kid when he's down. I've had too much of that shit happening to me. He's not getting up and his mouse friend is working on helping him back up, looking at me with his eyes as wide as a plate. I ignore them both.

"Anyone else?" A few kids shuffle aimlessly, intimidated that I just look at them. No one steps up, smart. More for me then for me, I don't think I've got another fight in me, or to find out what they do for infighting, probably more of the same shit I've gotten. I don't think I can take another beating quietly. I turn back to Zevran, still sitting on the floor like this happens all the time. "Have you heard if we're stuck inside?"

"_Non,_ I saw a few head out that way." He motions to another hall way opposite the one we came in from.

I turn to go, I don't see the cook anymore, and I wonder when she left. "Coming?"

"You care to have me along?" I roll my eyes.

"I like knowing when someone's insulting me," I tell him. "And no one will fuck with you if you're with me."

"And when you no longer need a translator?"

"Should hope I don't," I say turning around, but I'm watching him out the corner of my eye to see if he'll come.

Zevran smiles, "…You are easy, Vasco."

I flinch a bit at the name; it's going to take some getting used to. "Don't get used to it, I'm about to make things fucking complicated."

One hall way leads to another and another after that. Closed doors line each side and we use our wiseasses to good use and don't try to open any of them. The last door is open and I have to squint in the sunlight.

It's hot out. L.A. is like a million degrees without a cloud in the sky, so I'm use to the hot, but not humid, and the smell. God, this is hell. Ugh. "What stinks?"

"We're near the leather making district." Zevran tells me as if it's fucking obvious. I guess it would be, if I'd known what planet I was on in the first place. I count to three so I don't smack that smirk off his face and might have made a face.

"Smells rancid." I'm whining like a bitch, sue me.

"Yes, well, decaying flesh and all."

This time I can't help elbowing him in the ribs, a bit harder than friendly. That's me, way too fucking rough. "Smartass."

"Talking to yourself?" He replies with that same smirk, but he's rubbing his side like it hurt so I don't say anything else.

There's more kids out here than in the kitchen area and a few more of different ages, though I still can see the pyramid shape they make if I try to count them. Some are playing games; others are scuffing with each other. They remind me of grade school, sort of, but I don't pay much attention.

There's no wall or fence keeping any of us in this little backyard.

"What's keeping us from running away?" I ask. Zevran hits my arm and hushes me. I'm about to snap at him when I notice what he's staring at. A man is crouching on the roof of a nearby building. He moves just slightly and the sun glints brightly off something, directly into my eyes. I doubt this guy can hear that good, but he obviously knew what _I_ said. Don't need fences, is what he's telling me.

Trust me buddy, I got the fucking message.

"_Mingherlini_." It's Scarface. I didn't think about it before, but he can probably guess Zevran was the one that told me my new name. So much for being smart, I just hope he's forgotten about it and doesn't take the shit out on Zevran. A few of the youngest kids are already clustered by him. He's looking my way. Somehow I don't think he's forgotten.

"That's us," Zevran says.

"I got that," I mumble. Shit, can't I go a few _minutes_ without someone looking to bust my balls? No such luck. Me and Zevran join the group of frightened kids, most of them give me one look and shuffle away nervously. Scarface doesn't look too happy about that, I can tell by the evil eye he's giving me. Shit, I'm fucked.

"Perché, I do not wish to repeat myself, and that one," He just his chin out in my direction, "Does not seem to understand Antivan, I am saying this in Trade."

Cool, so English isn't English here. At least I don't have to make an ass of myself by saying it. Fuck you, Scarface and thanks for the info.

"Your first year here will be about survival," Scarface goes on. "If you last that long, you will begin true training as a Crow."

"… And here is your first test." His face makes an evil smiling face, it makes my stomach turn, or maybe that's the slosh they fed us. Shit, I wonder if I can get Montezuma's Revenge in hell, sounds like a wonderful way to make things fucking worse. "It ends at nightfall."

He gives a short whistle and every other kid drops what they're doing and turns to our little group.

They run at us.

Cluster-fuck, that's what we are right now. Scarface brought us right in the middle and we're already surrounded before we can blink. Shit, this is worse than any gang fight I've been in. I'm having a hard time trying not to get knocked over and pinned down. None of us know each other, except me and Zevran; I don't know who's who when the fighting starts and I don't know who to hit and who not to. I've already lost sight of Zevran too; shit there's no helping him if I can't find him.

I try damn it, I really do, but there's too much shit going on. One kid gets piled on by six other kids and he's screaming like their ripping him apart. Half of me wants to help him, but the other half is more concerned with my own ass which is in serious hot water. Sorry, you're on your own.

I'm still looking for Zevran as I knock one kid that charges me into another who had his back to me like a dumb ass. Oh shit, he might be one of the newer kids. Didn't think of that. It's no one I know, and I forget about it, see, that trick actually works.

No Zevran, damn it, nowhere! Fuck I hate that. Right after I told him no one would mess with him with me around. Corse this shit is out of my control but still. Fuck! Damn it!

It's a good thing there's only a few older kids -I mean the 15-16 year olds- around, else this would be shitier then shit. Some kid tries to jump me, but I grab him by his arm and spin him off his feet and his face hits the ground. I have to get out of here, there's too many people here and I can't take them all. I remember the watchdog on the roof though, and think leaving might be a bad idea, but I'm going to get my ass kicked if I stay. Hell, Punk-ass said they've got my number; they're probably going to try and kill me.

"_Corre_!" Oh good, someone was thinking the same thing I was. I don't feel like such a bitch for running now. Fuck it.

I throw my shoulder into the ribs of a kid, I'm not sure who he is, but he goes down hard and he's the only one in my way to an alley way. I glace up just a second, and watchdog isn't there anymore, but that doesn't mean he's not there at all. I'm not the only one who's taking off. I see another smaller kid running off in front of me. He makes it to the alley with on one stopping him, but there's two more older kids hot on his tail.

Fucking hell these kids are fast!

There's more kids coming out from inside too, shit!

Sucking it up, I book it.

And I thought L.A.'s back roads were a maze. Here every building is so close together it's hard to pass without bashing into a wall. I can hear someone, at least one, behind me and I put all my energy in to getting as far away from them as possible. I even throw myself around random corners, any direction, trying to lose them, but they obviously know this fucking city better than me.

Suddenly there's people all around me. I didn't expect this place to be so populated, but was nothing compared to tourist season. It's like I've walked right into Main Street, like I'm back home.

Someone blares a horn. I can breathe.

I might have panicked a second. I thought another bus was coming. I think after what's been happening I'm allowed a flashback or two. Fuck off.

Shit, the kid is on my ass. I dodge into the jumble of people.

"_Guardalo_!" Some lady shouts when I almost run her over. Fuck you lady, they're trying to kill me! I just hope there's enough of a crowd that they don't see me duck back into an alley on the other side. I keep running. The main street is far behind me, or at least I think it is. I took a few turns and try not to run myself in a fucking circle, but-

My back hits the wall. I try to hold my breath long enough to hear if anyone's coming.

Shit someone's coming. Or that could be my heart in my ears. Shit- fuck- I can't tell. I keep moving. Slower this time. I make it out to another street, and try not to get noticed as I join the crowd.

Stalls line the streets, with merchants trying everything to draw any attention. Most of their stuff looks useless, course, I can't understand what they were saying, so maybe it isn't, I don't know. Christ, I've never seen so many colors in once place. It's a flea market right out of a third world country. Never thought this was a real thing, something from a movie, you know? It is pretty cool though, aside from the evil eye I keep getting when the merchants actually took notice of me. One guy looks like he's ready to throw something at me when I walk too close. I hold my hands up so he could see them. Hey fucker, I'm not here to steal.

Course, the thought crosses my mind.

See, the food, even though I couldn't name any of it, reminds me that they didn't give us anything to eat. Fuck, I knew I'd be hungry in a minute and trying to snag something is really, really tempting. Made me wish Zevran was around to run distraction, I bet he'd be good at it. _Shit_, I ditched the guy. I hope he thought of running before I did. Hell, I hope he was the one that told everyone _to_ run. Would make me feel better.

That makes me think about going back, and I wonder if I could even find my way. Hell, I wonder why I'm even thinking of going back in the first place. It's not like they can keep track of every kid that ditched the playground, can they? They _are_ a group of assassins and they basically took role call this morning before we were even let out of that room. Shit. I'm probably being followed right now.

Course, I can just be paranoid, but now every stray noise is someone around the corner, and not just the brats from that apartment place-thing.

Well, whatever. They're just going to have to drag my ass back. I couldn't find my way back myself even if I wanted to, anyway and all I have to do is not get caught before nightfall. That was only, what, twelve hours? Easy.

Course, that's what I was thinking until someone spotted me.

No, no, see. I'm just thinking; Gee Ravan -sorry, _Vasco _. Give me a break I'm not use to it yet- Gee Vasco, there sure aren't a lot of other kids about. I mean, it's obviously a big, _populated_ city, you'd think you'd see a few little ones running around somewhere.

Then I remember what Zevran said, that most of the kids in the house are bought, and the fact that we're all about the same age.

So it gets me thinking, because _sometimes_ I'm pretty damn observant, that the Crows must do this on a yearly basis, buying kids and bringing them to that house. Then, the next day, if my experience is anything to go by, they sick the older kids on the younger ones and weed out the weakest ones quick and simple. Course, if this happens all the time, then the city knows about it, talking about it isn't necessary, and the parents that actually care about their children, not us road kill or whorehouse wash off, tuck their kids safely inside and don't let them out. Kind of like some morbid holiday.

That's when I notice some kids nearby looking my way. Sometimes I'm observant, sometimes.

Then I thought of something else; if this is a regular thing no one's going to think twice about letting some kid be beaten to death in the middle of the street. There's three of them and they're gunning for me, I can see it in the whites of their eyes. Shit, they're too close.

Fuckin' A. Seriously. I hate being right.

I think the guy behind the stall knows what I'm going to do before I do. It didn't stop the mind-blown look from crossing his face when I kick the leg of the stall out and send all the weird food crashing to the floor. I stopped long enough to see the kids slow and one trip and face-plant before taking off down an alley. I still hear them coming. Damn it, I know I can't take them all. I hate running like a scared bitch, but I'm not stupid. If I knew this city better I could try to split them up, buy I don't so my only chance is to ditch them.

I should really pay more attention to were I'm fucking going. But who decided it was a good idea to leave a ten foot drop at the end of the road? Someone needs to smack the guy who designed this place.

It's got a killer view of the ocean, I'll say that. Kind of knocks my 'help me I'm in hell' theory out though. Who ever heard of an ocean in hell, and not some morbid blood red one either; this one's just as blue as the Atlantic. I can even see the sails of the boats from here. Huge ones, very Columbus style. I paid attention to the pictures in school they were far more interesting than the wind bags up at the front, sue me.

The city is even more tightly packed below me then the area I was just running through, I can barely see the spaces between the buildings, and I'm standing right above it all. I really didn't want to try and work my way through that mess. I don't have a choice. They've spotted me. Damn it. I'm really not with it today.

I don't have anywhere else to go but down. Fuck my luck. Somebody wish me a happy landing.

Jump damn it, jump-

The tiles shatter under my shoulders when I hit the roof below and I slide down. I try to grab the edge before I fall off completely, but those tiles crack too and I crash down. The ground was muddy from the night before, and I thought the leather district smelt bad. I try whipping the mud off my face, but my hands are covered in shit and I just and more too it. Fuck it all. I get up and run before the kids catch up to me. I don't think they're coming, but you know, bitch runs to fight another day.

Fucking shit, if I had any hope of finding my way back myself it's gone now. Maybe they'll forget about my sorry ass. I wish.

I'm lost for hours. Seriously, where the fuck am I? I'm getting really sick of that question. Nothing down here is as densely packed –people wise- as the other side was. The buildings are so tall in some places I can barely see the sky. There's a lot of workers about, beefy guys that would take my scrawny ass to town if I look at them funny. That's half of why I'm so damn lost, I have to keep my eyes to the ground and hope I'm going wherever.

Least no one's found me, I guess that's alright.

The sun's almost down. I only know that because I managed to find my way to the docks. I've never seen ships like this, up close anyway. They were huge things with big white sails. The masts are so tall I can't imagine anyone climbing to the top and not falling. I guess it happens once in a while.

I try and stay out of the way and just watch as they load up the last of the day's cargo and pack up the ship to get moving in the morning, most of the guys don't pay me any mind. Most of them.

"_Un degli esclavos fuga?_" It took me a minute to look up and realize they were talking to me. I hate not having Zevran around to translate for me. I don't say nothing and try to walk away.

Try too. Another beefy guy blocks my way. He grins; his teeth are yellow and broken. "_Creo que sí._"

"Leave me alone." I say and try again to keep walking. Try. They stop me again.

"_Non creo questo si habla Antivan._" No shit Sherlock I _can't_ speak Antivan, thanks for pointing that out. "_Debe essere un schiavo._"

"_Debe essere._" The toothy guy agrees.

Next thing I know the guy has me thrown over his shoulder like a sack of shit.

"Let me go!" I snarl and knee him in the face. I think I break what's left of his teeth because he dropped me clutching his face with both hands. I hit the ground running, but the other guy tackles me before I make it ten feet. My head smacks the ground as I twist onto my back, but I'm used to that shit. The guy is grabbing at me, trying to pin my arms and legs down. So I head butt the fucker between the eyes. I have to scramble back to my feet, but he's dazed and I'm only dizzy. No much better, but at least I can keep moving.

Course, I forgot about broken teeth guy and before I know it he's got my wrist in one fist and is shoving me forward, towards one of the boats. They're mad as fuck right now. I can almost see the steam coming out of their ears. I'm still trying to fight, but they've got no trouble lifting me up off my feet and that death grip on my hands won't let up.

Sherlock stops walking, and Broken Teeth who doesn't have an original thought in his ugly head stops too. He doesn't know what to do when Sherlock falls over, like he can't see the blood staining his shirt. I find the guy who did it and kick him in the shin to get his attention. The moron didn't even feel it. "Hey dumb ass, over there."

"_Egli pertenece ai Crows._" He says. I knew they were following me, fuckers. Broken Teeth goes white as a sheet and lets me go. I go to run again, but my Killer Stalker's already got my arms pinned before I can blink. Fucking hell these people are quick. I have no choice but to go where he shoves me. It isn't until we reach a flight of stairs that I realize there's easy ways up and down. I might have been running for my life but, God I feel like a dumbass.

Well, now I know where this place is. Whoopee-fucking-doo.

I can hear shouting before we even get inside. The two men, one being Scarface, fuck I'm screwed, turn as the door opens and the big guy in fancy clothing, points at me. "_Egli è quello! Egli rovinato mis puesto dell'alimento y se rubato i mis productos! Exijo un compensación!_"

"Es la verità?" Scarface is looking my way.

"I'd love to defend myself, but I have no idea what he's saying."

He looks like he wants to hit me, but that would require walking over here. "Not you, _cazzo_."

"El puesto è molesto, ma nulla fue rubato." Fucking hell, he's been following me all day. Did they do this to every kid? Or am I just the lucky little fuck who doesn't know his place yet?

"Take him to the post," Scarface said so I could understand. "Ten lashes."

Wait, lashes? They're going to whip me? See, this is more of what I was expecting when I got here. Fucking shit did I fight against this guy, but no matter how many times I beat at his shin or slammed my head into his ribcage, he didn't feel a thing. He pushed me along just as easily as Broken Teeth did; only this guy was like, a third of his size. He calls out to another guy, who comes out of a small shed with rope and a whip. Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck._

I can't stop them from cutting off my shirt with a knife or from binding my hands and pulling them above my head. The knot locks on a hook on the wooden pole in front of me I try to see what's going on, but I can't turn.

The whip cracks the air before it hits me.

I scream.

I can't help it. I scream like a fucking girl. This is so much worse than the broom handle. At least that could only bruise; I can feel the whip ripping into my skin. I twist and scream and fight with everything I have to get that knot off that hook, but nothing helps.

"Stop moving _cazzo_, if I get anything other than your back I have to start again." Sometimes I'm smart; I really don't want him to start over again. The whip cracks again. My back is on fire and I can't keep standing. He waits until I stop panting and the next three come one after another.

Someone splashes water in my face.

"You have to stay awake." You could at least let me have a drink ass face. The seventh one makes me passes out again. Finally he's at ten; at least I think he is. I can't remember the last two. They unhook my hands and I fall. I can't stand on my own so Stalker, I think its Stalker, I can't tell, drags me back inside. "This is the only price we will pay for a _regalo,_ be thankful you had this chance."

Second night in a row I get shoved into a room and hit the floor. This time I can hardly move. Some of the other boys gasp, they must see my back. Fuck, is it really that bad? Hurt's like it's that bad. I struggle to my elbows and knees just as the lights go out and the door slams shut. I have to stop every few seconds to catch by breath. Shit, I'm never going to get to my feet. I'm not weak, I'm not.

Someone touches me and I fall over trying to beat them back. "We need to stop meeting like this."

Dear fucking God, its Zevran.

"Hey man," I choke. This time he helps and I don't fight it. Together I make it to our little corner. There's less kids in the room tonight. I'm in too much pain to count. "Where've you been?"

"I was the first one gone." He snorts. That really did make me feel a whole lot better. "I did not get the chance to warn you, I did not know this would be today."

"So'kay." I grunt lying down. God, it hurt so bad. Please don't wake me up till next year; I think I'm good on the torture. Zevran lies down in front of me. I don't blame him, I'm glad I don't have eyes in the back of my head. I wonder how he can stand being so close to me. He says he can hear good, and I can't keep my breath from coming out ragged or from whimpering every time something twinges in my back. I know he's not asleep. "Zevran, do you know what addiction is?"

_"Dipendenza_? _Si,_ I know this." He says softly. "There is a plant, a root I think, it causes _alucinaciones…_ fantasies? Mm, anyway. It makes one's teeth perfectly white. Some of the whores used it just for that reason."

Wow, I wasn't expecting that.

"Well… my mom was addicted to something like that. It made her forget where she was." I can't tell him everything, it just won't make sense and I don't have it in me to explain it all. "She'd always promise she'd get better, that she'd stop. She'd be fine for a little while, but then she'd start using again."

"How did the Crows find you?" I sigh. It's a bit harder to explain.

"I was running." There, that's a good start. "… I was tired of the lies. Of my father beating me up because he was in a bad mood. Maybe I got trampled by a horse?"

I frown, it was as close to 'hit by a bus' as I could get. "I… mean it when I say I can't remember."

Meaning, I don't know how I got here, but hey, seven-year-old.

"At least the whores only beat me if I broke something." I try not to laugh; it hurt my back too much. "By the way, Vasco, stay away from the docks. They'll sell you to Tevinter, and that is worse than being a Crow."

I cough. "Little late for the warning."

* * *

><p>Contra il pared, ora, mocciosi. – Against the wall, now, brats.<br>Proviamoci di nuevo. Tuo nombre, cazzo? – Let's try this again. Your name, dick.  
>Quién te dijo eso, c? – Who told you that, asshole?<br>Qué stai fissando, idiota? – What are you staring at, idiot?  
>Qué – What<br>Di qué stai hablando? – What are you saying?  
>Diteme – Tell me.<br>Stanno diciendo que tuo hai palle ottenuto. – They're saying you've got balls.  
>Non saben perché hanno miedo, se pareces come Ferelden basura a mí. - Don't know why they're scared, you look like Ferelden trash to me.<br>Non può nemmeno hablar y viene qui como se es duro. - Can't even talk and he comes in here like he's tough.  
>Necesita di aprender come se fanno las cosas qui. - Needs to learn how things are done here.<br>Non è quello ditto! – That's not what I said!  
>Mingherlini – Weaklings<br>corre – run!  
>Guardalo! – Watch it!<br>Uno degli esclavos fuga? - Did one of the slaves escape?  
>Non credo questo si habla Antivan. - Don't think this one speaks Antivan.<br>Debe essere un schiavo. - Must be a slave  
>Debe essere. - Must be.<br>Egli pertenece ai Crows. - He belongs to the Crows.  
>Egli è quello! Egli rovinato mis puesto dell'alimento y se rubato i mis productos! Exijo un compensación! – He's the one! He ruined my food stand and stole my goods! I demand compensation!<br>Es la verità? – This is truth?  
>El puesto è molesto, ma nulla fue rubato. – The stand was ruined, but nothing was stolen.<p> 


End file.
